


Self-acceptance as an act of survival

by winter_hiems



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Charles Xavier, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, Bodyswap, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Jewish Character, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Charles is a BAMF, Don't copy to another site, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hiems/pseuds/winter_hiems
Summary: Charles and Erik get temporarily swapped into each other’s bodies.Charles seems to be handling it.He isn’t.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Gabrielle Haller/Charles Xavier (past), Irene Adler (X-Men)/Raven | Mystique
Comments: 40
Kudos: 223





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place in September 1992, because as far as I’m concerned, Dark Phoenix didn’t happen.

Hank assured them that it would be temporary. Less than ten days, in fact, before they switched back. 

But that didn’t mean it would be easy. 

*

When it happened, Erik’s first sensation had been the noise. An overwhelming cacophony of _I NEED TO BUY GROCERIES – DO I KNOW HER? – WHAT IF THEY FIRE ME – STOP TOUCHING ME LIKE THAT – IT HURTS – WHERE’S MOMMY – ASSHOLE, SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO – I’M HUNGRY – LOOK, A KITTY! – MUST BE A PARKING SPACE SOMEWHERE – MY BACK HURTS – HE’S CHEATING ON ME – MUSN’T FORGET TO –_

He’d cried out at the pain of it, something more than a moan but less than a scream, and he hadn’t stopped whimpering until he felt Jean in his head, shutting off his mind from the outside world. She’d stayed with him until they put a control collar around his neck. 

It took him twenty minutes to stop shaking. When the shock wore off, he realised that he couldn’t feel his legs. 

*

When it happened, Charles’ first sensation had been the silence. 

Deafening to say the least, with the only thoughts in his head being his own. He’d felt nauseous. _Not again, I can’t block my powers off again,_ before he realised that it wasn’t because of the serum. 

There had been other sensations, too. He could feel the metal around him, chairs and tables and door handles and electrical wiring and pipes and – 

And – 

He could feel his legs. 

*

They went to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Far enough away from any populace that Erik would be able to go without the control collar and not hear any thoughts. 

He’d asked if they had any of the serum left and was told that there was no point. Even if he did take the serum, the atrophy in Charles’ legs meant that he still wouldn’t be able to walk, and if all they needed to do was suppress his powers then a control collar would do the job. They had a few collars at the mansion to be used as a last resort if one of the students went haywire with their powers. 

Charles drove, not with the pedals but with the hand controls that were already attached to his car. The muscle memory of Erik’s body meant that he could walk fine, but he didn’t want to risk trying to use the pedals. He hadn’t used his legs to drive a car for over three decades. 

In Erik’s voice, Charles promised to keep the X-Men updated daily – twice daily, if they wanted it – before shutting the driver’s side door and starting the car. 

Erik sat in the passenger seat and said nothing for a very long time. 

He was wearing Charles’s clothes, of course. He’d picked out a turtleneck that Charles probably hadn’t touched in years. It looked odd where it was pulled up to cover the bulky control collar, but it had been necessary. They couldn’t risk another driver seeing a man wearing what was obviously a control collar and calling the police. 

Erik hated the way it felt around his neck; heavy, hard plastic that was warm close to the battery. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t his powers that the collar was binding, it was Charles’. He had to keep telling himself that he couldn’t move metal because he was in Charles’ body, and if he ripped off the control collar like he so badly wanted to, all that would happen was he once again become overwhelmed by the thoughts of those around him. 

Never before had he realised how far Charles’ ranged extended. Several miles at least, the minds closer to him louder than the ones further away. Even with the collar on, he’d had a headache for nearly an hour afterwards. 

*

Looking at Charles was difficult. There was something profoundly unnatural about seeing his own body seated beside him, driving the car with a posture and gestures that emphatically were not Erik’s. 

And Erik couldn’t feel his legs. 

He was reeling from the wrongness of it. A total lack of sensation that started at the small of his back, cutting off all feeling. He’d noticed that Charles had a habit of running a thumb across one of his thighs when he was nervous, and now he understood why. If it weren’t for the fact that Erik could see his – Charles’ – legs, and touch them, he might find it difficult to believe that they were still there at all. 

*

They’d been driving an hour when Charles broke the silence. “We need to go over techniques. So that you can – can deal with the paralysis.” 

“Can it wait until we get to the cabin?” 

Charles shot him a glance. “Getting to the cabin will take another three hours. Sooner or later, one of us is going to need the toilet, and trust me, navigating the disabled bathroom at a highway service station is never easy, the first time.” 

“Fine. What do I need to know?” 

Charles went through the list almost robotically. He listed the do-s and don’t-s so calmly and methodically that he must have rehearsed the instructions in his head before starting the conversation. It seemed like a lot to remember for the daily routine of washing and changing clothes and moving about. 

They did stop, for gas and for the bathroom and for two sandwiches that were both kosher; Erik wouldn’t eat non-kosher food and Charles said that he wouldn’t eat non-kosher food while he was in Erik’s body. 

Charles had been right. Going through the motions of using a disabled bathroom at a gas station wasn’t easy at all. 

Erik supposed that Charles must be better at it than him. Faster, at least. Surely it must get easier with practice, but how much easier? 

He hated the whole process, not only because pushing himself around in a wheelchair felt restricting, but because using Charles’ body like that felt voyeuristic. It wasn’t something that Erik had any right to watch, but he had to. Until they switched back, both of them would be seeing the other’s body in ways that were, to Erik’s mind, terrifyingly intimate. 

*

The cabin was fairly spacious. Apparently Warren’s family owned it but never used it, so everything was kept clean in case the Worthington family broke with tradition and actually decided to stay there. Erik had waited in the car while Charles opened the front door, then tried not to squirm as Charles carried him up the front stairs and into the cabin, setting him down on the sofa. A few moments later Charles returned with the wheelchair and placed it close enough to Erik so that he could transfer into it if he wanted to. 

He sat there and said nothing while Charles unpacked the car, floating the suitcases up the stairs and into each of the bedrooms. 

At least the cabin was only one floor. Erik wasn’t sure if he’d be able to cope with Charles repeatedly carrying him up and down stairs. 

“How do you do it so easily?” Erik finally asked. 

It was Erik’s face and Charles’ frown. “Do what?” 

“You used my powers to move the suitcases. How did you do it straight away with no training?” 

Charles shrugged. “It seemed fairly intuitive. After all, I do spend my time teaching mutants how to use their newly-emerged powers. It would be faintly ridiculous if I couldn’t apply the advice to myself.” He paused. “Though perhaps I should have asked permission. They are your powers, after all. Sorry about that. I shall ask before I use them, next time.” 

*

Erik couldn’t reach the kitchen surfaces, so it was Charles who cooked dinner. He wasn’t great at cooking, but he wasn’t terrible either. Jean had packed more than enough food to last them until things were back to normal. 

They hardly spoke during the meal. It wasn’t that the food tasted bad, it tasted fine. But Erik was only just now discovering that Charles’ taste palette was subtly different from his own, and he suspected that Charles was finding the same thing. 

After dinner they played chess. 

Even during the game they didn’t talk much. It was too jarring to open your mouth and hear the wrong voice. After a time, Erik sighed exasperatedly and tipped over his king, conceding the match. 

Charles frowned. “That wasn’t at all necessary, Erik. I had you in a difficult position, but you could’ve moved your rook –” 

“Do you think I can take the collar off?” 

“Yes,” Charles replied softly. “I should think we’re far enough from civilisation for things to not be as overwhelming as they were before.” 

Erik worked at the clasp of the collar with his fingers for a few seconds before it flicked back and he could pull it off. There was still a faint murmur at the back of his mind from people miles away, but it was like hearing a crowd in a building next-door; annoying but not awful. 

“When your powers first came,” he asked Charles, “how on earth did you deal with it?” 

Charles’ gaze was uncharacteristically hard. “I didn’t. I curled up in bed and cried because I thought I had gone insane. Then I learned to hide it. After three years of second-guessing myself and jumping at shadows, I realised that it was telepathy and I started to figure out how to control it.” 

“I can’t hear your thoughts. I can sense your mind, but I can’t tell what you’re thinking.” It was a strange sensation, to be able to reach out with his mind and sense the shape of something that was unmistakeably Charles. 

“I may not have my powers right now, but I can still shield my mind to a certain extent. Enough to keep out an amateur telepath.” 

“And I’m not even that, am I?” 

*

As Erik was undressing for bed, he made a discovery. 

Charles had scars on his legs. Messy white ridges of scar tissue, more on the right leg than the left. Injuries so severe that they must have needed stiches. 

That wasn’t all. There was a mark on the right side of Charles’ torso, a palm-sized patch of scar tissue that looked like a burn mark. He ran his fingers over it lightly. How could Charles have sustained such an injury? 

Then he gritted his teeth and turned the wheelchair around. He might as well get a look at his own work. 

He craned his neck and looked over his shoulder into the mirror. The scar at the small of Charles’ back was twofold: the lump where the bullet had gone in and out, and the marks where stiches had once been. He ran his fingers over it and discovered that sensation stopped about halfway down the scar. _I did that._

Erik turned the chair back to the way it had been before, struggling with the way the wheels moved over the floorboards until he faced the mirror. 

This was, perhaps, the only advantage of the situation. He could look at Charles’ face for as long as he wanted without fearing repercussions. 

As alien as it felt to see Charles copy his gestures in the mirror, Erik couldn’t look away. 

Often he had been afraid at being caught looking at Charles for too long, or too tenderly, but tonight there would be no restrictions. He could stare into the bright blue eyes and run his hands through the soft, grey-streaked brown hair, and marvel at the way the muscles moved in Charles’ shoulders and arms and… 

No, this wasn’t right. Just because he had the opportunity to didn’t mean it was right to make Charles an object like this. There was nothing right about staring at Charles’ body when Charles’ mind wasn’t present to offer or withhold consent. 

Internally scolding himself, Erik transferred into bed slowly and carefully, and switched off the lamp. 

The presence of Charles’ mind in the room next door kept him awake long after he’d turned out the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s how this fic happened: what_a_dork_fish posted some thoughts about a Cherik bodyswap fic on one of its tumblr blogs. I read them and thought “that’s interesting, but I don’t think I would ever write a bodyswap fic.” And then I thought, “But if I did write a bodyswap fic along the lines of these prompts, it would go something like this…”
> 
> The idea took hold of me, and here we are.
> 
> I got the idea of Charles’ nervous habit of running his thumb over his legs from that scene in DOFP when they’re flying to Washington and Charles has just stopped taking the serum.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. The characters are owned by Marvel. I am not profiting financially from this story.


	2. Chapter 2

Over breakfast the next morning, Erik said, “There’s a burn on your side. Just below your ribs.” 

Charles tried not to flinch at the painful memory. “Ah, yes. When I was eleven my stepbrother held me down and put his lighter up against my side. It healed well, and besides, he only did it the once. Usually he was simply content with hitting me.” 

“What?” Erik’s reply was short and sharp. “Why didn’t you stop him?” 

Charles stared at him. “Because it started before I knew my powers weren’t insanity, and even after I knew about my telepathy, I didn’t yet know how to control people. It took several years before I could do anything other than read thoughts.” 

“Did Raven know?” 

“I shielded her from the worst of it. I had to. I was older than her, I couldn’t just do nothing while he hit her… And bruises heal. I was her brother, it was my duty to put myself between her and him.” 

Erik looked at him for a long time before he spoke again. “There were other scars, too. On your legs.” 

“You dropped a stadium on me, what did you expect?” 

He paled. “Charles, I didn’t know – I didn’t think.” 

“Exactly,” Charles snapped. “You weren’t thinking, were you? My right fibula was fractured.” Erik made as if to speak again, and Charles waved him away. “Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t feel a thing. Now are you going to ask me any more invasive questions about my bodily imperfections, or can I finish my boiled egg in peace?” 

*

They were being scrupulously careful with each other’s bodies, taking care not to leave any kind of damage, be it temporary or permanent. 

Charles found it deeply ironic that Erik, who had dropped a stadium on him and handed him over to Apocalypse and punched him more than once, was suddenly doing the wheelchair equivalent of tiptoeing around anything that might leave the slightest mark on Charles’ body. 

He might not have his telepathy right now, but Charles could sense Erik’s frustration. It was evident in every movement he made. 

Erik was used to striding around on long legs while other people hurried to keep up, and now he had to push himself around a cabin that had definitely not been furnished with a wheelchair user in mind. He’d already knocked the wheelchair into the sofa several times, swearing at the sudden jerk of the impact. 

On the second morning, Erik fell. 

He’d been coming in from the terrace. It would be completely impossible for a wheelchair to move around in the woods surrounding the cabin, so if Erik wanted a change of scene from indoors then the only choice was to go sit out on the terrace for a while. 

An autumn drizzle had started up, so Erik started to push himself back inside when he misjudged the distance between the chair and the doorframe and was tipped forwards onto the floorboards. 

Charles was over in an instant, picking Erik up carefully and setting him down on the sofa, then bringing the wheelchair inside and shutting the door to the terrace to keep out the chill of early autumn. 

“We need to check my legs,” he told Erik. 

“Check them?” 

“If they’ve been cut or scraped, you won’t feel it. We need to go over them and check that everything’s alright.” 

After a little deliberation, Charles carried Erik into Erik’s bedroom and laid him down on the bed. He pulled off Erik’s trousers methodically and started checking his legs over. 

Even though it wasn’t the body he was inhabiting right now, Charles still felt self-conscious. The scarring on his lower legs was somewhat ghastly in the light from the window, and as for the muscle atrophy… it was something that he’d always been able to hide from Erik up until now. 

Charles was relieved when he found no injuries other than bruising and told Erik that he could get dressed again. 

“Could you help?” said Erik quietly. “I’m finding it difficult to change clothes.” 

Charles made a small noise of derision at that. “You should try getting in and out of clothes that haven’t been specially tailored for wheelchair-users.” 

*

It was the fourth day they’d spent there. They’d eaten lunch and then Charles had gone to read a few chapters of The Once and Future King. The book felt odd in Erik’s hands, but the familiar story soothed him; thrust into a body that wasn’t his own, he was craving familiarity. 

He kept thinking about their conversation two days previously. He’d honestly hoped that he could go his whole life without Erik seeing the state of his legs – the scars, the atrophy. Hopefully Erik hadn’t yet noticed the track-marks in his arm. They were nearly twenty years healed, barely visible to anyone who didn’t know they were there, but every time he caught sight of the tiny, faint marks he felt a rush of shame that wouldn’t leave him until he found some kind of distraction. 

Mostly, Charles was glad that he no longer felt the urge to take the serum, even on difficult days. That was the main reason why he hadn’t wanted Erik to take any; even ten days’ worth of doses might trigger a relapse into dependency. 

He couldn’t risk that. 

It was the loss of his telepathy that hurt the most. It had been a constant companion through the years, and he’d only turned his back on it during the darkest times of his life. No matter how difficult things became, Charles had known that he could always point to his powers and say, _“Even if I have nothing else, I have this.”_ But he couldn’t do that right now. 

The front door opened. Charles stood and put his hand on the handle of the bedroom door. Erik wouldn’t be able to leave by the front, wouldn’t be able to make it down the stairs. 

It was at that moment that he heard voices. 

_Fuck._ Without his telepathy he couldn’t sense anyone approaching the cabin. It hadn’t even occurred to him that his usual way of spotting threats wasn’t available to him right now. 

In an instant he had thrown open the door and rushed into the living room. 

Raven stood there as Erik closed the door behind her, her hands in the pockets of her black parka. 

“Hey,” she said, as if that was any explanation.

“What are you doing here?” 

She seemed taken aback by his bluntness. “I… I heard what happened and I wanted to check up on how the two of you were holding up. I mean, you’ve got about six more days of this, right?” 

“Yes,” said Erik, behind her. 

Charles didn’t need his telepathy to know that Raven felt awkward. He knew her expressions too well, even in her natural blue form. She tugged at the bottom of her winter jacket. 

“So,” she continued, “I guess it must be weird having each other’s powers. Still, mutant and proud.” 

“You have no idea,” Charles muttered, “no idea at all, how fucking tired I am of hearing that saying.”

“What, why?” Her eyes had gone wide. 

“Because it’s bullshit! Mutant and proud, but Erik wore that bloody helmet for years. Mutant and proud, except you don’t trust me because I’m psychic. Mutant and proud, for everyone except telepaths. Then again, you’ve always treated Jean with respect, so perhaps everyone is allowed to be mutant and proud except me.” 

“I –” 

“Are you happy, Raven? Are you enjoying the fact that your horrible telepath brother can’t read your mind right now? Does it make you feel secure? Would you like it if I stayed this way forever?” 

“Do you want to,” asked Erik, in a voice that didn’t belong to him. “Stay like this forever, that is?” 

“Of course not.” 

“I thought you might have been enjoying it. Being able to walk. Having legs to use, even if they aren’t yours.” 

“Enjoying it?” Charles spat, “This isn’t my body! This isn’t my body, and I want my powers _back_.” He turned and ran out the back door, jumped off the back terrace, felt the impact jar all the way up his – Erik’s – legs, then took off at a sprint. 

The dirt felt solid under his pounding feet. For a moment, he could let his mind wander as his legs pumped and air burned through his throat. He could think back to university, back to the days of basketball and half-marathons. But Raven had been with him then, they’d run off to Oxford together to escape the memories of a big house that held two brutal men and the ghost of a woman who was supposed to be a mother. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running for – long enough to start panting, not long enough for his legs to ache – when he came to the tree. It was tall, its trunk thick and slightly twisted, and the branches, oh, the branches were perfect for climbing. 

Despite the fact that he’d loved it as a child, Charles couldn’t remember the last time he’d climbed a tree, but in an instant he had his hands on the lower branches, smooth bark under his fingers as he pulled himself up and up. More than fifteen feet off the ground he stopped, crouched on a sturdy branch, his breaths coming fast as much from emotion as from exertion. 

From here, he could look out across part of the forest. Now that he was locked into his own head it was the closest thing he had to telepathy, to the ability to reach out with his mind and into the surrounding world. 

The restrictions made his skin feel too tight.

A slight breeze blew through the tree. Enough to make the brown leaves rustle and fall, but not enough to sway the branches. 

Charles closed his eyes, focused over on the quiet of the wood. It had been a long time since he’d last given himself over to rage like that, and it was still simmering at the back of his mind. Rage wasn’t safe for a telepath. Rage in a telepath could mean everyone in a ten-foot radius getting headaches or nosebleeds or worse. At least in Erik’s body he couldn’t hurt anyone. 

He shivered. The shirt he was wearing wasn’t thin, but it wasn’t thick enough to keep out the autumn cold. He should have grabbed a jacket before he went out, but he hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t wanted to think. He hadn’t wanted to think about anything at all… 

“Charles?” 

Raven had followed him. It must have been easy for her. The earth was soft and he hadn’t exactly been careful about the trail he must have left. 

Once again he cursed his inability to sense someone sneaking up on him. How did non-telepaths go about their business every day, without having any kind of early-warning system? Or perhaps they just led safer lives than he did, never having to stay alert for the day when a mutantphobe decided to bring a gun into the school for the gifted. (It hadn’t happened yet, but he knew that if the school ever lost its anonymity there would certainly be an attempt. If it wasn’t a gun, it would probably be a bomb. He’d studied the statistics and the teachers ran drills for lockdowns and evacuations, and Charles wondered if it would be enough when the day came, enough to save the children.) 

“Charles, can I come up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles can’t be nice all the time. Sooner or later, something has to give.
> 
> There are a few brands out there which do clothes specifically tailored to wheelchair users. For example, clothes that are cut to fit best in a sitting position, elasticated waistbands, and altered positioning of zips and pockets.
> 
> I would also like to make it clear that Erik is finding things difficult in the wheelchair because he's never had to use one before. Living in a wheelchair is not inherently difficult.
> 
> Charles’ love of basketball and running is actual comics canon. (Seriously, that man played a lot of basketball over the years.)


	3. Chapter 3

“Charles, can I come up?” 

“I won’t stop you.” 

There was a rustling from below him as she started to climb, finally settling down on a branch a few feet below him. 

“Erik and I… before I went to find you, we talked. He had no idea that you were finding this whole situation hard. He thought you were okay with it.” 

“How would you feel if you had your powers taken away from you? Had a new set put in their place? Had your own face replaced by someone else’s, and you couldn’t change back? I thought I could grin and bear it, but after only a few days it feels… it feels exactly as uncomfortable as wearing another person’s skin should.” His fist clenched. “Six more days. Six more days, and it feels like six years.” 

She looked up at him with those yellow eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t realise how much you hated the whole ‘mutant and proud’ thing.” 

He stared down at her. His little sister, the stranger. “How couldn’t I hate it? You threw it in my face constantly. You were so angry, every time I reminded you that you had to hide your natural form in public, never thinking about how people would treat you if you went out wearing blue scales and yellow eyes. You said that we grew up together, that I didn’t raise you –” 

“You didn’t raise me.” She sounded defiant, as she always did. 

“Do you remember what the maids’ names were?” 

“What?” 

“The maids were called Maria and Ana. The cook was called Jennifer. The groundskeeper was called Benjamin, but he always told me to call him Ben. They were the only reason why we survived in that house with Kurt and Cain and mother. They were the ones who would tell me the best places to hide, the ways to stay out of the way. They were the ones who smuggled us food wherever we were hidden so that we wouldn’t have to go near the Markos come dinnertime. Ben bought bolts and gave them to Maria, and she fixed them to our doors so that we could lock ourselves into our rooms whenever we needed to keep Kurt and Cain out.” 

Raven frowned. “I can’t remember…” 

“Of course you can’t. I was the one who organised all of it. You were too busy having a childhood. Deny it all you want, but you were raised by me and Maria and Ana and Jenny and Ben. Those are the people you owe your childhood to.” 

She ran a hand through her hair. “This isn’t all it’s about, is it? It’s about the telepathy too. Charles, you always knew that I didn’t like it when you read my mind.” 

“But you never asked me how difficult it was to keep your surface thoughts out. Reading your mind takes effort, but surface thoughts? It’s like having someone whispering in your ear, constantly, and then they ask you to ignore the whispering. To block out surface thoughts you need constant, unceasing focus. It’s exhausting. Do you ever get tired, when you wear someone else’s shape for too long?” 

Slowly, she nodded. “I never thought…” 

“You never asked.” Perhaps he was being too harsh on her, but he wasn’t entirely sure. She wasn’t a girl anymore. She was an adult, and adults should be able to talk about things like this without complaining at the unfairness of it all. “And then you left me. At Cuba, you left me.” His voice started to shake, but he was determined not to cry. He felt too hollowed-out and exhausted to cry. “You weren’t there, Raven. Months in hospital, in and out of surgery. Physical therapy. Crying myself to sleep. You weren’t there.” 

“You told me to go.” 

“Because I knew that you would never stay. I don’t delude myself. I haven’t occupied a space in your heart in years.” 

Her mouth dropped open. She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d slapped her. “Charles, I always cared…” 

“Are you sure that’s true, Raven? I was in hospital, paralysed, and you didn’t visit once. But Erik goes through the same thing – easier, though, because the injury healed years ago, because he knows it won’t be permanent – and you come running to him straight away.” 

She leaned back against the trunk for a few moments, closed her eyes and tipped her head back. After several minutes of silence, she said, “I came for both of you. To check that you were alright. To see if I could do anything to help you cope. Though, now, I get why you thought I only came for Erik. I see it, I really do.” She turned to look at him with eyes the colour of dandelions. “I was a shitty sister, wasn’t I?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“I mean, sometimes I drop students off at the school, and I wish I could say that it’s because I want to help them, and I do, I really do, but mostly… mostly I want to check up on you. That you’re doing okay. But then I worry that I’m just going to go back to being your obedient little sister and I say things to hurt you because it makes me feel like I’m still independent.” 

“Independence doesn’t mean being alone,” Charles said softly. “Independence doesn’t mean pushing away anyone who cares about you. And you were never obedient. I didn’t ask you to be.” 

“I know, I know.” She shifted her position on the branch. “Do you think I can fix… this?” she said, gesturing between the two of them. 

Charles shifted too. Sitting in one position on a cold tree branch was starting to get uncomfortable. “I think that’s entirely up to you. If you want to patch things up, I’ll be waiting.” He sighed. “And now I’m regretting finally clearing out your old bedroom.” 

“You cleared out my room?” 

“After Cairo I honestly thought you might stay, but then you didn’t. And I thought to myself, ‘If she isn’t going to stay after twenty-one years, then she isn’t going to stay.’ So then I put your things into storage and I let Moira move into it.” 

“Moira. Huh. Are the two of you still, you know, together?” 

“We broke up when she moved back to Scotland. It was completely mutual. We agreed that it wouldn’t work long-distance.” 

Raven raised her eyebrows at him. “Do you still have feelings for her?” 

Charles took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “To an extent, yes. If she ever moves back to the States and wants to start it again, I think I’d say yes. It was good while it lasted. Looking back, those seven years are the longest relationship I’ve ever had. And it _was_ good while it lasted.” He shut up; he was repeating himself. 

“Do you still have feelings for Erik?” 

He gripped the branch, hard. “When it comes to Erik, we both know that what I want is most certainly not what I’ll get. He’d never give up that bloody crusade of his for me, even if he does feel the same way. I’m sure he’d be happy for us to have some kind of arrangement where he shares my bed when he feels like it, but...” 

"But you want something more permanent.” 

“Forgive me if it sounds boring and traditional, but yes, something permanent. Something where I know he’ll always come home to me and I never have to worry that he’ll turn up on the evening news.” 

Raven ran her hand through her hair again and bit her lip. “I’m… seeing someone,” she said slowly. “Her name’s Irene.” 

“That’s good, Raven. That’s really good to hear.” He wasn’t entirely surprised that his sister had found a woman to love. For all their differences, they had always been united in their desire for both men and women. United, because they kept feeling that way even when all the world told them it was wrong. 

Raven’s next words came out in a rush. “She’s a mutant. Her power is precognition. She’s blind, but she doesn’t let that stop her, not ever. And she tells these really, really bad jokes, and I never laugh at them, and she says I will one day and I think she’s probably right, and when I eventually do I know she’ll never let me live it down. She has a daughter named Anna-Marie. She’s eight and according to Irene she’s a mutant but her powers won’t manifest until she’s sixteen. I’m trying to be a good mom to her but I’m not sure if I’m very good at it yet. I kind of screwed things up with Kurt.” 

“You weren’t there for Kurt. You can still be there for your stepdaughter.” Perhaps this was the right time to tell her. She would have to find out eventually, and it would be good practice for when he eventually had to tell the X-Men. “Raven, I need to tell you something. Something I haven’t told anyone yet. And I need you to promise that you won’t tell anyone, and especially not Erik, because I’m not ready for him to know.” 

“Shit, is something wrong?” Her eyes were searching his face, trying to figure out what secret he might have. Charles found that he didn’t need to read her mind to know that she wouldn’t tell Erik. 

His hands were shaking. It turned out that telling the truth could be bloody intimidating, even when it was your sister. “I… early this year, I was with a woman. Gabrielle. Just for a few weeks, mind. Then she went back to Paris and I didn’t hear from her until April.” 

“And…?” 

“She’s seven months pregnant. Due in – in late November. It’s going to be a boy.” 

“Get out of the tree, Charles.” Raven said brusquely. 

“What?” 

She was already climbing down. “Get out of this tree so that I can hug you.” 

Slowly, he went down after her, and as soon as his feet touched the ground she was hugging him tightly. It felt strange to be so much taller than her, to be the one who had to lean down. 

Her voice was slightly muffled against his chest. “You’re going to be a dad.” 

“I’m terrified,” he mumbled into her hair. “Excited, but also terrified. I mean, I’m fifty-four. That’s… it’s very late for this sort of thing.” 

“Hey,” she said, pulling back slightly and clasping his hands. “You’re gonna do great. Have the two of you settled on a name yet?” 

“David.” 

She grinned up at him. “I’m going to be an auntie!” Raven took his hand and started pulling him back in the direction of the cabin. “Come on, you need to get back inside. Your hands are freezing.” 

“Fine. But remember, not one word to Erik. I doubt he’ll be able to read it from your mind if you don’t want him to, but you must remember that I’m not ready for him to know.” 

“Of course. Now come on. The sun will be setting in a few hours and it’s starting to get cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the movies, I never thought that the divide between Charles and Raven was Charles’ fault. The movies tried to frame him as being controlling, except that he… really wasn’t? Like, ever?
> 
> Wanting Raven to hide her blue form in 1962 was a perfectly reasonable survival strategy. And then she hates him because, what? He doesn’t want her walking around naked?
> 
> And she’s all ‘mutant and proud’ except for when it comes to Charles’ telepathy? Ugh.
> 
> So no, the divide between Charles and Raven felt decidedly uneven for me, and I put a lot of thought into ways that they might reconcile. Notice that while Raven does admit her mistakes, she is still too proud to say sorry.
> 
> I also wanted to imply that the falling-out between the two of them was partially because Raven genuinely didn’t realise everything that Charles was doing for her. It’s implied in XMFC that Charles has put a lot of effort over the years into ensuring that Raven never gets caught in her true form in a dangerous situation.
> 
> And Raven/Irene! Because they should’ve put it in the movies and they didn’t.
> 
> This fic became… a lot more than I initially intended it to be. My first idea was that it would be about 4 chapters, with a very short first chapter. Obviously it didn’t turn out that way. At first I wasn’t going to include David, and then I was, and then I wasn’t, and then I realised that it felt like the only organic way to end Charles and Raven’s conversation in the tree.
> 
> I think it sort of works. Something that I didn’t much like about the movies was the fact that it implied that from 1962-1973 and 1973-1983, Erik and Raven were off doing things (and yeah, getting thrown in prison), while all Charles did was sit around in the mansion. Charles is never shown to have much of a life outside of running the school, and while the Institute is of course an important part of his character, I don’t think it should be the only thing going on in his life. They never followed through with Charles’ feelings for Moira in XMFC and XMA, so I wanted to reference that here. In the comics, Charles and Moira were passionately in love, so I thought I would let them have a long-term relationship with an amicable break-up.
> 
> And, of course, David. Erik has Peter, Raven has Kurt (and Rogue as well now). Sure, Charles wasn’t exactly a supportive father in the comics, but as I wrote in my fic Second Chances in an Unknown Land, Movieverse!Charles has a lot of unused Good Dad potential.
> 
> And this author’s note is way, way longer than I intended it to be.


	4. Chapter 4

Raven stayed the night and left after breakfast the following morning. 

The next few days passed faster than he thought they would. He and Erik had somehow gotten past the silent tolerance stage and managed to start talking to each other over their games of chess. If sometimes they started arguing over matters of ethics then, well, at least they were having a conversation. 

On the ninth morning, Charles woke up and he couldn’t feel his legs. Tentatively, he ran his hands over his face, and it was _his_ face, not Erik’s. He slipped his hand under his t-shirt and found the burn scar exactly where Cain had put it, then reached behind himself and ran a finger down the scar at the small of his back. Sensation disappeared halfway down the scar, as always. As it should. 

He pushed himself up and transferred into the chair and turned to study himself in the mirror. God, it was a relief to see his own face staring back at him. 

Checking the clock on the wall told him that he’d woken uncharacteristically early, but he felt awake and refreshed so he went to shower. He dressed himself, underwear and socks and trousers and a shirt and a dark blue sweater, and they were his own clothes, familiar and comforting. He reached for his copy of The Once and Future King and remembered that it was in the other bedroom with Erik. Right now, Erik’s mind was still asleep – Charles’ telepathy was back, as if it had never left – and Charles didn’t want to wake him. 

As quietly as he could manage, he pushed himself to the kitchen. The cabin’s uneven floorboards made the wheelchair move somewhat awkwardly, but he’d pushed himself across worse surfaces. The hob was a little too high up for him to be comfortable using it, so he made himself toast and a cup of tea, and enjoyed the kind of mental peace that only happened to him when he was the only person awake in a forty-mile radius. 

He'd eaten the toast and drunk two-thirds of the tea when he felt Erik stir. 

A little over two minutes later, Charles heard the door to Erik’s room open and Erik called, “Charles?” 

“In here,” he replied. 

True to form, Erik was wearing dark jeans and a black turtleneck. “So we’re both back,” he stated. 

“We’re both back.” 

Erik frowned. “You seem… cheerful.” 

“Shouldn’t I be?” 

“Did you feel anything, last night? Any pain?” 

Well, now Charles was worried. He’d checked his whole body over in the shower and found everything in order. Even the bruises from Erik’s fall a week ago had faded almost to nothing. “Not at all. Should I have felt something?” 

“Last night I couldn’t sleep. It felt like I had this – this itching sensation in my lower back. It got worse, and then it seemed to change to feel like bad cramp. And then it got worse still, until it felt like my whole back and legs were on fire. I tried to call for you, I even tried to use your telepathy, but my grip on things was fading and then I was unconscious. I think that must have been when we switched back.” 

Charles finished his tea. “Oh. I didn’t expect you to get phantom pain.” 

Erik leaned against the doorway. Charles could feel the surprise through the hum of Erik’s surface thoughts. “This is normal for you?” 

He shrugged. “In the six months after Cuba, it happened very often. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. Then less frequently as time passed. Back in seventy-three when I stopped taking the serum, it happened quite often for the first six months – I remember the flight to Washington DC, it was awful, though it was gone by the time we touched down. Then it grew less frequent the way it had before. Though usually for me it skips straight to burning or cramping and doesn’t get better or worse. It doesn’t usually build up the way it did for you.” 

Erik’s question came like the crack of a whip. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me?” 

“What would have been the point? I don’t need you to pity me. It’s something I live with. If it happens when I’m alone, I can lie down and doze until it’s passed.” 

“And if you’re not alone? If you’re teaching a lesson or training the X-Men?” 

Charles clenched his jaw. He’d never intended for Erik to know about the phantom pain, partially because he didn’t like Erik to know about any potential weaknesses of his, and partially because the episodes of pain were so rare these days. “I grin and bear it until I _can_ be alone.” 

“Dammit Charles, how can you be so bloody casual about it?” 

“Because it’s my life,” Charles snapped. “It’s my life, and I can’t afford to hate it. It would be so easy, so bloody easy to let myself slip into self-hatred and self-pity, but if I did then I would never get anything done. I wouldn’t be able to help anyone. So yes, on the days when it feels like half my body is on fire I pretend that I feel fine and I carry on teaching my students. It’s for the same reason that when I sense someone thinking about my paralysis - wondering how I can live like this, if I can still have sex, if I can still have children – I take it on the chin and I move on.” _And I can still have children,_ Charles thought but did not say. _David will arrive before November ends and I still don’t know how I’m going to tell the X-Men._

He took a shuddering breath in a futile attempt to calm himself. “In two years I’ll have spent more of my life in this chair than out of it. I know that it is generally thought that every paraplegic must secretly want to be healed and walk again, but it’s not true. I’ve accepted the wheelchair, Erik. I would accept it as a part of myself even if nobody around me could. Even though it means that I can’t do certain things, that I have to ask for help sometimes. Even though it means that sometimes I’m in pain and I have to hide it so that the students don’t worry. Jean can tell when I’m hurting, but nobody else and I intend for it to stay that way.” 

“Charles–” 

“Let me finish, Erik. I accept it about myself because I have to. It’s self-acceptance as an act of survival. Because if I don’t find a way to accept my body as it is – scars and muscle atrophy and phantom pains and paralysis, and fuck, even my grey hairs – I think my body might start to feel like a prison. And I refuse to live that way. Yes, I can’t walk. But I’m healthy and I’m active and I have a job that I love and people that I love, and people who love me in return, so I refuse to view my paralysis as something that wrecks my life, even if it hurts me sometimes.” He took a shuddering breath. His hands were shaking. Charles always hated it when his hands shook in front of Erik, so he put them in his lap where they would be hidden by the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pack. Once I’m finished, I’ll need you to carry me to the car and put my suitcase in the back. It’s up to you to decide whether you’ll be coming back to Westchester with me.” 

Hands still shaking, Charles pushed himself around the table and past Erik, out of the kitchen. He went to Erik’s room, collected his copy of The Once and Future King, pushed himself into his own room, shut the door behind himself and sat there for… for he didn’t know how long, his hands trembling and his favourite book sitting in his lap. 

*

Halfway back to Westchester, Charles pulled in at a bus stop and Erik got out and there were short, inadequate goodbyes, and Charles drove away with Erik standing in the rear-view mirror. 

The X-Men greeted him with no little relief. When he and Erik had left they’d been far more worried than they let on, though Charles had been unable to sense it at the time. 

He had wondered whether his brief spell in Erik’s body would increase the frequency of the phantom pain, but luckily it seemed that there had been no ill effects. 

A week before he was supposed to be born, David Charles Haller came into the world with soft black hair and blue-green heterochromia and a tendency to stare at everything with a bright-eyed curiosity, and Charles fell in love with his tiny, inquisitive son straight away. 

When David was a week-and-a-half old, the pain came again, fire licking up and down Charles’ thighs and calves, a burning brand digging itself into the base of his spine. Gabrielle was out buying groceries so he didn’t need to hide the pain, and he gripped the edge of the crib and tried not to cry out too loudly in case it woke David. 

But David woke anyway and started screaming. Charles had never heard him cry so loudly or so desperately, and even though the pain hadn’t faded he pushed it to the back of his mind to try and figure out what was making David so upset. 

_Oh._

David was upset because he could feel his father hurting. 

Charles leaned down and took the small, warm weight of David into his arms. When Charles stroked David’s hair he felt a spark of touch-telepathy between them, and Charles did his best to project love and calm, because pretending that you were alright when you really weren’t was something that he was well-practiced at, especially when it eased another’s suffering. 

“Look at you,” he said softly. “A telepath before you can even speak. It’s very impressive, though I suppose you won’t understand that for a while.” 

David liked being talked too, and soon he was babbling quietly to Charles, and by the time Gabrielle had returned to the flat, the pain was gone. 

Half a week later he was flying back to America, finding out that it was incredibly difficult to leave your child behind on another continent, even if it was in the more-than-capable hands of Gabrielle Haller. 

Two months after that he got a panicked call from Gabrielle, who could cope with her baby son developing telepathy and telekinesis, but started to panic when he set fire to his crib, and after some careful fireproofing things calmed down again. 

And a month after that, Erik was knocking on his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research for this chapter. Paraplegics experience phantom pains most often in the six months following the injury. These pains are described as itching, cramping, and burning.
> 
> I didn’t want this fic to be about how ‘unfortunate/awful/depressing’ it is that Charles is in a wheelchair. Sure, things will be difficult for him sometimes, but in this chapter especially I really wanted to focus on his determination to live his life, even though many people might make ableist assumptions about him. Even though Erik hardly ever considers the effects of Charles’ paralysis. Charles doesn’t love every part of his body, but he accepts it so that he can enjoy his life.
> 
> I also have a confession to make. I wrote chapters 2, 3, and 4 on four hours of sleep. Somehow they didn’t even need much editing.


	5. Chapter 5

_Charles still has feelings for you._

_Charles still has feelings for you._

Six words, and they’d been haunting him for days. 

He hadn’t known what Raven wanted when she’d turned up at the Brotherhood headquarters – he didn’t think she’d want to re-join the Brotherhood – so he’d invited her in for whatever conversation she wanted to have. 

And she’d told him that Charles still had feelings for him, and that he didn’t want something casual. 

The idea – the sheer concept that even after everything, Charles might still want him, had thrown him completely. The fact that Charles wanted a serious relationship only sunk in later. 

And Erik had gotten to thinking. 

About the Brotherhood, and what they’d achieved, and what they hadn’t achieved, and the fact that the humans still used him as a bogeyman even though his role in defeating Apocalypse was well-known. 

_Charles still has feelings for you._

Would the X-Men even accept it if he came to live in the mansion? He didn’t want a relationship with Charles if it meant Charles lost the trust of the people he loved. 

It was at that point that Erik realised he’d already made his decision. 

*

A slight drizzle was falling. It would have to work a lot harder if it wanted to be considered rain.

Erik hovered outside Charles’ window, the package heavy in his hands. He could have floated it, but he wanted to hold it, to have something tangible to grip as he tried to maintain some degree of calm within himself. 

He wanted this. 

He’d wanted it in 'sixty-two over games of chess and during training, and he’d wanted it in 'seventy-three over whiskey and glares, and he’d wanted it in 'eighty-three when he realised that he’d betrayed Charles and rushed to see if he could stop Apocalypse in time. 

And he’d wanted it five months ago in the cabin when Charles had been snarling at him about how he didn’t want to be pitied. 

Most people would look at Charles and assume that he was weak; the wheelchair and the tweed suits and the soft smiles ensured it. And they were all wrong. Charles Xavier could take more pain and more heartbreak than any other person alive and still get up the next day with a smile and a kind remark, even if his voice was strained and the smile couldn’t reach his eyes. 

_Charles still has feelings for you._

*

Erik’s heart jolted when the door to Charles’ bedroom opened and Charles wheeled himself in. 

They regarded each other for a few moments: Professor X in his chair and Magneto floating just beyond the balcony, and then Charles had crossed the room and let Erik in. His hair and clothes were slightly damp. 

The silence had grown awkward by the time Erik thrust the box into Charles’ hands. “I want to give you this.” 

Charles opened the box. Inside, gleaming metallically, was… “Erik, this is your helmet.” 

“No, Charles. It isn’t mine anymore, it’s yours. To do with what you will. I won’t make another one.” _It’s worth it,_ Erik thought. _Giving this up for him, it will be worth it._

Those blue eyes could be completely unreadable at times, and the fact that Charles was ostensibly not reading Erik’s thoughts didn’t make him feel any better. “Why on earth are you giving this to me?” 

Erik shifted uncomfortably. “Raven and I had a talk. She said – she said that you still had feelings for me, but you didn’t want something casual. You wanted something serious.” 

Charles held up the box. “And this is your way of showing that you’re serious?” 

He shrugged. “It’s as good a way as any.” Slowly, Erik unzipped his leather jacket and slid his hands into the pockets to hide how they were clenching and unclenching. “I’m quitting the Brotherhood. After thirty years… I’m tired, Charles. I’m tired of my way, and I think I’d like to live by yours, even if your ideals are infuriating at times.” 

“Well, at least you’re still being honest with me.” His heart was hammering away in his chest. Perhaps this was it, the day when things started to mend between them. “Why, Erik? Why now?” 

“Because I seem to have been a complete hypocrite towards you, and I don’t want to force your powers away from me anymore, and I think I’ll still be able to help mutants if I’m here. I know that I’ve hurt you, in so many ways. And at times I’ve been unfair. But what Raven said made me hope that you might still want me, even after everything.” He bowed his head. "And I am sorry about Cuba. You know that, don't you?" 

“I know. But you didn't ruin my life that day. You just changed it." Charles set the box down on the ground beside his chair. “And I always have been a fan of hope. Come here, love.” 

The kiss was not particularly intense. They were both too tired for intensity; that could come later. Later, too would be explaining to the X-Men that Erik was here to stay, and later still would be Charles telling Erik about David. 

But for now they were content to hold each other close as the almost-rain continued to fall.


End file.
